


Identity

by for_the_love_of_wolves



Series: Alphabet Stories [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Character, Asexual Peter Hale, Bad Sexual Experience, Basically, Child Abuse, Child Stiles Stilinski, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Scarred Peter Hale, Scars, Survivor Guilt, The Stilinskis adopt Peter, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:41:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29967909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_the_love_of_wolves/pseuds/for_the_love_of_wolves
Summary: "Identity = Who a person is, or the qualities of a person or group that make them different from others."After the fire, Peter finds family and acceptance where he didn't expect it. He reflects on what led him to the conviction he is simply not normal enough for something like a relationship.
Relationships: Peter Hale & Talia Hale, Peter Hale/Sheriff Stilinski
Series: Alphabet Stories [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2129667
Comments: 5
Kudos: 76





	Identity

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags!  
> TW  
> This includes a scene of child abuse (insulting, blaming, yelling, a bottle is thrown), as well as a brief scene of dubcon (being kissed and touched without really consenting to it). Might be triggering! Also please tell me if you are missing a tag!

[Now]

A car follows Peter slowly as he is stumbling along the empty street.  
  
Peter ignores it. He gulps some more of the alcohol down his throat, the wolfsbane in it burning just enough to make him feel it. 

The ache in his lungs mingles with the dull pulse his broken nose is sending through his body. Peter can smell blood and chuckles to himself. That guy really was angry. Such a shame Peter couldn’t smash his face too. Not in a bar full of dumb humans. He isn’t that crazy. At least, not yet. 

The car stops. Someone steps out and Peter inhales a familiar scent. It makes him smirk. He stops, because this promises to be more fun than stumbling “home”. He turns around and faces the man approaching him. 

Noah Stilinski’s boots make unbearable loud noises on the gravel. “Really?” the deputy asks, blinding Peter with a flashlight. “Again, Peter?” 

Peter shrugs and wipes blood from his face, squinting into the light. “It’s not my fault my face is so pretty people get jealous and feel the need to break it more than it already is," he laughs joylessly. The movement of his mouth tugs at the scars.

Noah sighs. “Come on. Get in the car.” 

“Ooooh. Am I arrested?” Peter asks gleefully.  
  
“No. I’m driving you to the hospital. That nose needs to be looked at.” 

Peter shrugs. Why not. The wolfsbane is going to make him heal slower anyway. “Fine.” 

He throws the bottle away and there is a shattering noise. Noah shakes his head. 

It is warm inside the car.  
  
Noah doesn’t talk while they are driving and Peter almost falls asleep. Vague memories keep him awake, together with the pain. He raises a hand and touches his nose with a grimace, then rubs his fingers over the scars instead. Like always, the feeling makes him nauseous.

Noah glances at him through the rearview mirror. “You have to stop doing this, Peter,” he says.

Peter just hums. He remembers. Once upon a time, Noah wasn’t a deputy and Peter wasn’t a scarred werewolf.  
  
Once upon a time - ages ago - they went to school together and worked on some projects. Once upon a time, Peter teased Noah and Noah bickered back. Once upon a time, Peter saw Noah’s bruises before the other boy could hide them. They matched Peter’s, with the difference, that Peter’s bruises faded after a few minutes, while Noah’s stayed. Blue and purple, slowly changing into yellow and green.  
  
Peter wished he could make them disappear. He wished he would have talked to Noah more. Noah was trying to be nice. Maybe, they could have been friends.   
  
But Peter was too busy with being confused about himself, a mantra echoing in his head wherever he went.  
  
_Why can’t you be more normal?_

[Back then]

“Your eyes should be blue,” Peter’s father tells him one day, his eyes narrowed and hazy from the alcohol. “Don’t you feel guilty for killing your mother? You should. She was a good woman. She didn’t deserve to die, just because she had the mercy to try to give birth to you little demon.”

Peter doesn’t say anything, although the words are right on his lips. He didn’t kill his mother, she died while giving birth to him, that’s a big difference. A baby can’t kill anyone. But he says nothing. It would only make things worse.  
  
Instead, he bends over his book and pretends he hasn’t heard anything. 

His father grunts. A bottle flies and shatters right over Peter’s head. He winces. The scent of Scotch mixed with wolfsbane burns in the air. 

“Are you crazy?!” Talia rushes into the room, scoops Peter up and glares at their father. “Stop blaming him for this. It’s not his fault. No one thought it would kill her. She was strong! But … she was also human. And it was her choice to stay human.” There's pain in her voice, but her eyes are filled with fire.

Joseph Hale mutters something incomprehensible and lights himself a cigarette. "That child is not normal," he tells Talia. "He's bad spirit. Already cursed. You'll see." Talia shakes her head and gets Peter out of the room. She forgets the book on the floor. Peter doesn't tell her. She smells too angry and her grip is too tight. He doesn't tell her that either.  
  


When Peter is eight, Joseph goes to take care of some hunters and he never comes back. They find half his body hanging from a tree. 

When they tell him, Peter doesn’t feel sad. He knows he should. Everyone does. But he can’t.  
  
“It’s only us now,” Talia says when they are standing in front of a new grave. She sounds stunned. But she wraps her arm around Peter and presses him to her side. “I’m going to take care of you.”  
  


[Now]

The examination couch in the ER is surprisingly comfy. 

The examination is not.  
  
Peter curses when his nose is set. He shouldn’t need this, he thinks gruffly, pressing a cold pack against the bridge of his poor, aching nose. He still puts too much wolfsbane into the alcohol, even after so many years. Or maybe, it is intentional.  
  
Noah leads him back to the car after. “You’re coming with me,” he says after some time. 

Peter is surprised. But he doesn’t object. He feels tired. Worn out. He needs some rest and he can’t return to Derek and Cora like this. Also he really looks forward to seeing Stiles again. It’s been some time.  
  
The last time was at Claudia’s funeral.  
  


[Back then]

  
  


Talia is a different Alpha than their father. She acts calm and composed, trying to find peace instead of more war. She negotiates, even with the Argents.

She asks Peter to become her Left Hand and of course, it is a fitting role. It is like he was made for it. For being the outsider and killer - isn't he already one anyway? - the one to do the dirty work that is masked as protecting the pack. At least, it means he is mostly left alone and can go wherever he wants to. He finds an abandoned hut in the preserve one day and spends days there, devouring books as if they were food.

He learns so much about everything, he starts to think he could be Alpha as well. Talia smiles when he tells her, not looking up from her papers. Treaties. Peter thinks he wouldn't talk to someone like Gerard Argent. Someone so hateful will never stop hating.

"I could challenge you," he tells his sister, remembering their mock fights, these rare moments when they were actually having fun.

"Peter, please," is all she says, her voice strained. He leaves and stays in the hut for the rest of the day.

Talia wastes no time finding a mate. As the Alpha, she says, she has a certain responsibility in that area. 

She marries a werewolf from another old pack. It's a good catch for the Hales, everyone says.  
  
Soon, Talia starts to smell different.  
  
The pack is euphoric. A baby. A heir. Continuation of their oh so great lineage. 

While everyone else celebrates and fusses over Talia as if she’s fragile glass, Peter is sulking. 

He’s going to be an uncle. _Uncle Peter_. Ugh. 

He’s a freaking teenager, not an old man. 

Something inside him aches uncomfortably whenever someone mentions the baby. No more “it’s only us now”. It’s stupid to be jealous, he thinks. But he can’t help it. Still, no one else has to know. He keeps his feelings to himself, just like usually. 

They call the baby Derek. Peter thinks the name is stupid. He blurts it out when everyone’s making moony eyes at the baby and is met with a row of disapproving glances and headshakes. 

Someone hands him the baby. Peter wrinkles his nose, but instinctively, his arms close around the bundle of sweet smelling, whining pup. 

Peter looks down. Derek stares up at him, his eyes wide and his mouth open. He makes a tiny noise and his little nose crinkles. Something inside Peter softens. He carefully scents Derek and the baby chortles, flailing with his little arms and legs. 

“I’m going to take care of you,” Peter tells him, so quietly no one else hears it. 

Later, he tells the same to Laura, when she’s born.  
  
Peter is good with kids. Everyone is surprised. They say it is unusual for a Left Hand to spend so much time with pups. Peter doesn’t care what they say. 

He takes care of the pups, expands his network of spies in the city, wins one basketball trophy after the other and tries not to fall asleep in math. He just doesn’t get numbers. It’s like they are a whole other language and something, an invisible wall, hinders him to learn this language. Everything else at school is easy going. But math … Math is a painful mess in his head. 

One day, after a big game - they won and he was one of the top players, not that anyone from his family would know, they weren’t there - one of the other boys who plays in his team - his name is Michael - lingers in the locker room until he and Peter are alone. 

“You were great today,” he tells Peter. 

“Thanks,” Peter murmurs, frowning. He bends over his bag and quickly shoves his clothes inside. “Uh, you too.” 

Michael just smiles. 

When Peter straightens up and reaches for his bag, Michael leans forward and kisses him. Peter freezes. His brain short-circuits. He puts his hand on the other boy’s chest, but doesn’t push. Apparently, Michael takes that as approval, because he pushes his tongue into Peter’s mouth and lets his hands wander over Peter’s back, down to his arse.  
  
“You are gorgeous,” Michael says.  
  
Peter doesn’t know what to say. He thinks that Michael doesn’t look too bad himself, but he doesn’t feel the desire to touch. Or be touched. In fact, it makes his skin crawl and he feels oversensitive. But then, he remembers all that talk about sex at school. Everyone talks about how great it is, how they want to do it all the time. 

He remembers the side-glances and laughs when he admitted he hasn’t had any sexual experiences yet. The strange feeling of shame and insecurity that stirred inside him. He hated it. It took a lot of effort to build his armour of confidence. This is a crack in it.  
  
“You could literally have every single girl out there,” one of the boys in his team said. “They are practically panting whenever you are out on the field.” 

He doesn’t back away when Michael touches him again. 

Peter shivers. 

“I haven’t done this yet,” he says hesitantly. Something inside him tells him to leave. He never wanted this, he doesn't want it now either.

Michael smiles. “Don’t worry. You are going to like it.”

Peter doesn’t. In fact, when he goes home, he feels dirty and used and downright wrong. Wrong. Of course. He knows everything is wrong about him. His father said so often enough. Even Talia asks him why he couldn’t be more normal. More like the others. He’s not normal. He’s all wrong. Broken. Damaged. Cursed.

To his surprise, the wetness on his face soon isn’t only rain anymore.

  
[Now]

  
“Peeeeeeter!” Stiles squeals, hugging Peter’s legs. 

Peter smiles. “Hello, little one.” 

The babysitter tries not to stare at his face before she leaves and fails. Well, Peter is used to it by now.

Stiles grins up at him, amber eyes sparkling. “You smell funny!”  
  
Peter feels a hint of guilt. An uncomfortable memory of his father appears in front of his eyes. He hastily pushes it away. “Hm. Sorry. I drank something not so good.” He is about to add something, but then, his nose picks up a strange scent. His breath hitches. He sniffs, trying to focus and follow the scent trail despite the wolfsbane still burning in his veins. It’s coming from Stiles. It’s … Something changed.  
  
Oh. 

“You should take a shower. You know where the clothes are,” Noah tells him from the kitchen. 

“Your son is not human.” 

The words just slipped out. Peter bites his lip. Stupid mouth. 

Noah freezes on the doorstep, holding a bowl of salad in his hands. “What?” 

“He’s not human,” Peter repeats. Well. This is going to be interesting … 

“What the hell are you talking about? Did you take anything? Peter, if you tell me you are on drugs right now, I will …”

“No. I’m not on drugs. Noah … There are things you don’t know. Well, maybe you know them deep inside, but you don’t really believe in them. I am going to show you, okay? You have to know, for Stiles …” 

Noah looks even more angry now. “Peter, I swear to -”

Peter flashes his eyes and drops his fangs. 

Noah’s mouth drops open and he lets go of the bowl. It shatters on the floor, salad flying everywhere. 

Stiles gasps. “Whoa! Cool trick!”  
  


[Back then]

  
“Satomi said several wolves in her pack are searching for a mate, you know,” Talia says nonchalantly, stirring tomato sauce in a pot. 

Peter rolls his eyes.

So it is time for _that_ talk again. Peter hates it. But it passes. Everything eventually passes. 

He keeps shoveling carrot mush into Laura’s little mouth, ignoring her whines, wrinkled nose and flailing arms. She is a hopeless sweet tooth. If she could, she would eat ice cream the whole day. Peter won’t let her. Them being werewolves doesn’t mean they have to treat their superior bodies like garbage bins. 

“I know exactly what you are going to say and my answer is going to be the same like always,” he tells Talia calmly, wiping an orange stray splotch on Laura's cheek away with a napkin. 

“You are not getting any younger,” his sister says, her voice a bit strained now. 

Peter shrugs.

“I’m just trying to help, you know? How are you ever going to find a mate, buried in books and your head in the clouds,” she sighs. “You aren’t even going to the full moon meetings.” 

“Maybe I don’t want a mate,” Peter murmurs. 

She goes on, as if she didn’t hear him. As if he didn't say anything. “I could arrange something, you know.”

“Arrange,” Peter repeats, incredulous. A first hint of anger stirs. “You think you can just hand me to someone? Like a prize bull?” 

Talia sighs again. “Don’t you want to have kids?” 

Peter shoves another load of carrot mush into Laura’s mouth and smirks. “I have kids.” 

“I mean your own,” Talia says dryly. 

“I don’t know.”  
  
“You should, by now.”  
  
“Why? Because you say so?” 

Talia huffs and plunges the spoon into the pot so firmly, a few drops of sauce fly into her face. She grimaces. “Fine. If you don’t want to build your own family …” 

“A family can be a lot of things. It doesn’t have to be husband, wife and kids,” Peter tells her. “I could always adopt children. The Gods know there are enough orphaned pups out there. Thanks to the Argents.” 

Talia winces and wrinkles her nose. She didn't miss the sideswipe. Good. “Fine. Do what you want.” 

That’s what she says. But Peter knows exactly what lies hidden under these pretty words.  
  
_Why can’t you be more normal?_

His fingers tighten around the spoon. 

Laura whines and pukes carrot mush all over his neck.  
  
"Maybe," Peter says while wiping it away, "maybe we'll get you ice cream after all."  
  
Laura giggles and grabs his nose.

[Now]

  
“Everything makes so much more sense now,” Noah says when he's finally recovered, shaking his head in disbelief. “The fire …” he stops, glancing at Peter. “Hunters.” 

“Yes,” Peter nods. “Hunters. But humans helped them to cover it up. Even the police. I still didn't find out who's behind it. But I will.” He keeps the violent images he sees whenever he thinks about what he is going to do to who took his family from him to himself. Thanks to the network he built as Left Hand, he does have some trails. If only he could focus on them ...  
  
“Jesus,” Noah breathes, wiping his forehead. “And Stiles?” 

“I think he’s magic,” Peter says. “But I am not completely sure about the nature of his magic. He's too young. There is a spark inside him. I can feel it. But it is still dormant. Maybe, there was someone in his family, who was magic and they passed it on to him.” 

“He’s going to be a wizard? Like, like Harry Potter?” Noah pinches the back of his hand again, checking if he's really not dreaming.

Peter chuckles. “No. No, not like Harry Potter.” 

Noah looks at him helplessly. “This is a lot.” 

“I know,” Peter says. He doesn’t tell Noah how good it feels, to share this with someone. It feels freeing. 

[Back then]

“No!” Peter wails when someone pulls at him, dragging him out of the house. “No! No! Let me … Let me … I need to get them, I need to get …” The kids. Oh Gods. The pups! 

But no matter how much he pleads, he is pulled out and suddenly, the sky is above him, clouded with smoke. He coughs weakly and sobs. It hurts so much. He feels like he is still burning, phantom flames biting him, nagging at him. But the pain of loss already settling in is much worse. He can't feel anyone.

He could have done it. Could have broken through the barrier. He was almost there when they pulled him away. Almost through ...

“Peter!” 

Noah … 

The deputy’s face appears over him, eyes wide in horror. 

Peter reaches out and grips at Noah’s sleeve, pulling at it weakly. “My kids …”

Noah swallows. “The firefighters are in, they are going to find them.” His breath and heartbeat hitch.  
  
Peter closes his eyes. “You are lying.”

“I’m sorry,” Noah says, putting his hand on Peter’s. “I’m so sorry. You need to hold on, you hear me? The ambulance is almost there.” 

Hold on. What for? He is all alone now. Everything he has cared about, it is ash now. He couldn't save them. He should have saved them.

Noah is still talking. But his voice is far away now. 

Peter is drifting. Vaguely, he feels hands touching him, something being put on his face, filling his nose with fresh air. It is almost too fresh, hurting his burned lungs. He’s lifted and moved. Everything rattles. A siren blares.  
  
Peter wishes he could finally pass out. But Noah is still there. He reaches for Peter’s hand and squeezes it. Right before Peter tries to let go of everything, Noah tells him, “Peter, Laura and Derek weren’t in the house. You hear me? They are alive. They’re waiting at the hospital.” 

Derek. Laura. His pups. Noah isn’t lying this time.  
  
It gives Peter the little push he needs to not succumb to the darkness. 

[Now]

When Peter steps out of the shower, Noah puts clothes for him on the closed toilet lid. He glances at Peter and blushes slightly, quickly handing him a towel. 

Peter dries himself without really caring about his nudeness. “I remembered how you read to me at the hospital,” he tells Noah’s back. 

Noah’s shoulders twitch. “Yeah?” 

“Yes. I don’t know if I have ever thanked you for it. It was a nice distraction to everything else. Sometimes … sometimes the wolf inside of me just wanted to drown in rage and thoughts of revenge. Your voice pulled me out of that. Of course, Stiles’ helped too. And Derek. Laura. It kept me sane.” 

Noah hums. He glances at Peter. “I hope you don’t mind the question, but … when werewolves have accelerated healing, why are your scars still there?” 

“Wolfsbane in the fire and smoke,” Peter says, putting on the clothes Noah put on the toilet lid. They are a bit too big. And certainly not the quality Peter prefers, but they’ll do for now. “I don’t know if they will ever completely disappear.” His eyes glance at his face in the mirror, at the landmap of scar tissue and at the milky eye that is such a contrast to the other blue one. 

“I see,” Noah says quietly. 

* * *

They share the bed. Noah refuses to take the couch because he is already suffering from a bad back and Peter doesn’t want to sleep on the couch as well, because it is not close enough to Stiles and Noah. 

“It’s a wolf thing. I just want to know you are safe,” he explains. 

Noah lays on his back and hums. “It’s kind of nice. Peter?” 

“Yeah?” 

“How long are you going to do this?” 

“Do what?”  
  
“You know what I mean. Why aren’t you with Derek and Laura now? Why are you drinking in some bar, fighting with strangers or passing out on park benches?” 

Peter hesitates. Usually, he would find an answer that doesn’t make him break his carefully built armour, but … somehow, he can’t lie to Noah. Somehow, he wants to tell the truth. Wants to get it off his shoulders. Out of his head. Somehow, he feels like he can do it in Noah’s company. His wolf agrees. Huh. 

“I can’t look into their eyes. They lost their mother and everyone else. I survived. Why? I should have been able to save their mother and their father. I’m just their weird uncle, and now I am the only one they have. It isn’t fair. I would hate that too.” 

“I think they are glad to have you,” Noah tells him. “You are taking care of them. And I get that sometimes, you need an outlet, you need to get things off your mind, but … there are healthy ways to do that, Peter.” 

“Which ways should that be?” Peter asks doubtfully, staring up at the ceiling. 

“Well, you could come to me. Talk to me. I care about you. And … you really should go to therapy, Peter. I know you refused it when the hospital offered it to you. I think you should give it a try. It is okay to get help.” 

The first instinct is to say he doesn’t need help. But then he thinks about the nightmares, the guilt that tears him apart and the sudden bursts of rage, and he falters. Maybe, he really should go to therapy. And talk to Noah. He likes talking to Noah. He also likes Stiles. His wolf wants to protect them, so they are basically already pack. 

“I am going to think about it,” Peter says honestly. 

Noah’s hand brushes his gently. 

* * *

It happens slowly, not suddenly. 

Peter doesn’t even notice it at first. 

He spends more and more time with Noah and Stiles. Talks to them. Keeps an eye on that dormant spark inside Stiles. He also goes to therapy and it mentally drains him, but it also takes a lot of baggage off his mind. 

Noah makes him dinner and when candles appear on the table - or roses - Peter realizes they are dating. 

Huh. 

His first instinct is to run, but everything feels so nice, so why should he? For the first time since he woke up from being burned, he feels something he could carefully describe as a spark of happiness.  
  
Noah doesn’t push anything.  
  
Their first kiss happens when they are watching a movie, Stiles fast asleep between them. It is chaste and slow and feels … good. Peter tenses a second after it, because something inside him expects to be touched now, but Noah just leans back and smiles at him. 

It’s okay. 

Peter relaxes. 

Derek and Laura start to spend time at the Stilinski’s as well.

They start to grow together.  
  
This is what Peter wanted, he realizes. This emotional bond, a feeling of safety and acceptance. Of home.  
  
One day, Derek and Laura take Stiles to the zoo, so Noah and Peter can spend time together. They have an amazing dinner, watch a movie, cuddle and kiss a little. It’s all great. Until Noah’s hand wanders a bit lower than usually.  
  
Peter freezes and breaks the kiss. Suddenly, he understands why the pups really aren't here. He didn't get it before. Stupid.   
  
Noah immediately takes his hand away and frowns. “Did I do anything wrong?” 

“I … I don’t want to do this.” 

“With this you mean … everything?” Noah asks carefully, sounding a bit hurt. He backs away. “I considered what we have is … I don’t know. I’m sorry.”  
  
Peter realizes he’s been too vague. “No. No, I like what we have. I just … I don’t want to have sex,” he clarifies, his face burning. Soon now, he will smell the disappointment and anger. Noah is not going to want a relationship without something that apparently everyone does on a regular basis. Something normal.  
  
But then, Noah says, “Oh. Okay.”  
  
Peter blinks. “Okay?” 

“Yes. Okay. You don’t want to have sex. Alright. But … the kisses, were they okay?” Now Noah looks concerned. 

“I like the kisses,” Peter assures him. 

Noah smiles. “Good. I don't want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.” 

“You aren’t angry?” Peter asks, surprised. “It doesn’t bother you?” 

“Of course not. Not everyone likes sex. Are you asexual?” 

“Asexual,” Peter repeats, frowning. “What does that mean?” 

“It means to have no sexual attraction. Well, it’s a spectrum. Like autism. People who identify as asexual or autistic are all different. Uh, I am not an expert by any means, I only know bits and pieces. We can look it up on the internet,” Noah suggests.  
  
When they do, Peter can’t believe there is actually a name for what he feels like. “It makes so much sense,” he says, stunned. “All this time … I thought I’m just being weird. Not normal.” 

Noah chuckles. “You’re just being you. And you is just fine.” 

Fine. And just like that, a huge weight drops from Peter’s shoulders. He can be himself here. He doesn’t have to pretend. 

He found himself a family, after all. And he is going to protect it, no matter what.


End file.
